of the two people staring at her with excitement and intrigue shining in their eyes.
‘Answer it,’ Sonya said, gesturing wildly at Libby to accept the call.
They waited. Expectant. Sometimes it sucked that these two knew her so well.
Rolling her shoulders back, she chided herself. Act professional. He was just a businessman. Just another potential client. Libby covered her mouth with her index finger, shushing them. Then turned the laptop away so it faced the wall. Sonya and Vinnie would hear her side of the conversation, but they wouldn’t see her face while she answered the call.
‘Libby Noble.’ Shit, her voice was all breathy—as if she’d run a marathon.
She relaxed her clenched fingers, slipping her feet from her shoes under the desk and flexing her toes into the plush pile of the carpet. Libby’s neck burned, just knowing that Sonya and Vinnie were listening from the laptop beside her. They’d worked and played alongside her for the last four years, seeing her at her best and at her worst. Although the ‘play’ had been virtually nonexistent since Callum’s death.
‘Olivia—Alex Lancaster here.’
His voice rasped down the line, scraping at her earlobe. She rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he have a normal voice? A boring monotone that left her cold?
Libby cleared her tight throat. ‘Mr Lancaster.’ That was better. Clipped, curt, taking no shit. ‘How can I help you?’
He chuckled. The bastard actually chuckled. ‘You can call me Alex, you know.’
His voice was huskier over the phone, his dashing accent stronger—or perhaps without the visual distraction, her senses were more acutely attuned to every nuance of him.
Fantastic.
‘I hoped to persuade you to reconsider my offer.’
Just listening to him speak made her think of sex. His voice, deep and authoritative, screamed control. It should be a real turn-off. She hated being told what to do. Perhaps it was the change in time zones, messing with her biorhythms. She smoothed a crease from her skirt, her restless fingers needing something to do. Something other than itching to twist through his decadent flop of hair.
‘I thought we’d concluded things this morning.’
‘Had we?’
All she’d really concluded was that she was ridiculously attracted to him, and that her hormones were securely at the helm, sailing the Libby ship into uncharted waters. Waters fraught with wild fantasies. Just a hint of danger. Enough to thrill.
‘I wanted to tell you a bit more about the project. I think I mentioned I’m chief executive of a charity based here in London.’
Had he? She’d been too focussed on the rasp of his hand and the head-rush caused by his spicy scent.
‘It’s called Able-Active. Have you heard of it?’
Libby spun a pen on the desk, its hypnotic circling matching the frequency and rhythm of Alex’s rumbling speech. Autocratic, imposing, seductive… She could listen to him for hours…especially if he talked dirty.
‘No, I’m sorry. I haven’t.’
Her own voice was relatively low and husky for a woman. But his curled itself around her like a comfort blanket—warm, sensual and with just enough scrape to bring to life every nerve ending in her body. Particularly those tightly clustered between her legs.
‘Yes. And there’s my problem. At the moment the charity can only accept participants from the South East. I want to extend it throughout the UK’s other major cities. There are a lot of kids with different needs out there, Olivia—kids who deserve the experiences Able-Active provides.’
He’d pricked her interest. ‘What kind of charity?’
She quickly typed Able-Active into the search engine on her mobile phone and brought up the website.
‘It’s for kids with all kinds of different abilities. A recreational adventure centre, outward bound type of thing.’
‘I see. Well, I wish you luck with that venture, Mr Lancaster. It sounds very worthwhile.’
Damn him—couldn’t he have a few obvious flaws? Bad breath, poor taste, a warped sense of humour…?
‘It is worthwhile and…’
He paused, as if he sought the right word. Perhaps Mr Ruthless McReckless had a soft centre…
‘It’s important to me. That’s why I want the best people working on it.’
Ooh, flattery.
‘I’ve done my research. The best people is you. I read about your award. And the CEO of Kids Count wrote a very flattering piece about you in Charity Times.’
Silence settled, thick and cloying, pushing Libby back into the chair. Of course he’d researched her. He’d hinted as much this morning with his comment about her reputation. He was an astute businessman, intuitive, quick witted, driven. Any self-respecting would-be employer would do his homework.
She’d done the same; spent most of the afternoon scouring the internet and his website. Of course she’d missed any mention of his charity work. Too busy drooling over pictures of him shirtless on some exotic island. Too focussed on replaying his TED talks over and over just to hear the scrape of his voice. And too absorbed in imagining what he looked like under his urbane business suits.
This smacked of a personal crusade. No. He probably applied the same drive and determination to any enterprise he was involved with.
She remained silent. Why this reluctance to work with him? He brought something out in her—some perverse streak of her personality that revelled in denying his wishes. A battle of wills? Not very mature of her and bad for business.
‘Any number of firms could handle that kind of strategy.’
Yes, she’d worked on a campaign for the American charity, but surely he could find what he needed here in the UK.
He gave a small sigh. ‘Look, I get what I want, Olivia. You’ve proved yourself to have a clear and savvy understanding of the current social media climate. You have a flair for clever and innovative imagery and Kids Count are benefitting markedly. I want the same for my charity.’
His charity?
‘That’s why I put your name forward to the London Business School when they approached me to speak at today’s seminar.’
She stifled a gasp. He’d personally recommended her? And, as he sponsored the conference, he’d flown her here all expenses paid—including this hotel room. Her gaze skittered to the bed. The image of him naked and sprawled there, telling her what he wanted with that upper crust voice of his made her heart hammer. Not that she’d give it to him.
I get what I want. His arrogance…
Again, her mind veered. Did he want her? Fantasise
